"What? What is it?" asked Lee.

"We've lost the video from the bomb squad."

4:44 P.M.

As Harry, Scopes, and Lee came running down the stairs to the second bas.e.m.e.nt level, the first thing that hit them was the smell-an acrid smell of scorched insulation that reminded Harry of that house fire in Nacogdoches, but compounded with an odor Harry had never smelled before, something that made him think of vaporized steel and concrete. The fire alarm was blaring a glissando up and down like a slide whistle at an ear-splitting volume. As the three pushed through a pair of closed fire doors, they entered a darkened section of corridor, lit only by a couple of portable lights in the distance. Those marked the alcove where the bomb squad had gone to work barely an hour and a half before.

The alcove was gone. In its place was a pyramid of rubble. The ceiling was lacerated by a ten-foot-wide hole, through which dangled sheafs of wires and twisted pipes and ripped-out struts-the sinews and nerves of a once-proud architectural wonder. The severed sprinkler pipes hemorrhaged water, making everything slick, turning the dust that covered everything into a half-inch layer of gritty white mud.

Two bodies were already laid out on the driest portion of the floor, their faces blackened and unrecognizable, their upper bodies soaked in blood. Beyond them, in the apex of light, a half-dozen men frantically clawed through the rubble with crowbars and fingernails and the pick end of a fire axe. They panted and groaned as they heaved skull-sized chunks of concrete down onto the clattering floor. Their hands were b.l.o.o.d.y, but still they dug. One of their own was buried under the rubble.

Someone shouted, "Jamal! Jamal!"

Then something dark and glistening showed amid the rubble. A face-the face of a young black man, with a bit of police blue showing at the collar. Instantly everyone scrambled to pull away the debris that covered him.

"Jamal! Jamal!" came a shout, above the infernal whooping of the fire alarm. Jamal neither answered nor opened his eyes. Once his chest had been cleared, his body slid easily out of the rubble, with no right arm and no legs to anchor him. The men carried him down the small hill of concrete and laid him on the floor, next to the two other bodies they called Bill and Roman.

Captain Avery, his chest heaving, his hair dripping with water from the broken pipes, led the rescuers. Among them Harry counted four bomb techs, Wilks, and an HVAC workman. The HVAC man had a deep gash over one eyebrow that was still bleeding down the side of his face.

"Who else? Who else?" shouted Avery above the fire alarm.

"Tony. Tony's missing," one of the techs shouted back.

"Where was he?"

"In the shaft."

"Oh, G.o.d! Oh, Jesus! Tony!" Avery turned and clambered back up the pyramid, getting almost to the top before his way was blocked by a sagging steel beam. "Tony! It's Glenn! We're gonna get you out, Tony! Just hold on for five minutes. Five minutes, for Chrissake! D'ya hear me, Tony? Five minutes!"

"I can see his foot!" shouted one of the techs, who had climbed to Avery's side. Together they clawed away the rubble, sending a small avalanche of concrete chunks down the side of the pyramid. In a moment they had recovered it-a human foot, still clad in a spit-polished black steel-toed duty boot-and that was all.

While the techs went on digging, Avery slowly slid down to the floor, holding the boot like a Communion chalice, never taking his eyes off of it. Then he got up, and with wobbly, sleepwalking steps, made his way to the trio of bodies and laid the boot in their midst. For a moment he stood, viewing the remains of his men. Harry thought he saw Avery's lips moving-whether praying or simply trembling with emotion, he could not tell.

Suddenly Avery turned and charged to the base of the pyramid. "What are you doing, you sons of b.i.t.c.hes!" he shouted. "Lay into it! Clear that s.h.i.t away! Dig like you give a f.u.c.k, you good-for-nothin' momma's boys!" And then he turned around, addressing no one in particular. "For the love of G.o.d, can't somebody shut off that G.o.d ... d.a.m.n ... fire alarm!"

Just then a team of orderlies raced up with a pair of gurneys, and in their wake came a dozen firemen carrying ropes, oxygen tanks, crowbars, and ammonium phosphate fire extinguishers. In a moment the area around the rubble pile was thronged with diggers. Among them Harry saw a flash of something black and white-the uniform of his own security force. Pushing his way through the crowd, he found the face of Tom Beazle.

"Tom!" shouted Harry. "Over here! I need you to get to a house phone and have them shut off the alarm. Got that? Also the sprinkler water, the gas and oxygen to this sector. I need it all shut off now!"

Tom said something inaudible and took off running.

Harry made his way over to Scopes and Lee. Lee was using his cell phone to take photos of the bodies.

"Was that it?" Harry shouted.

"What?" Lee shouted back.

"Was that it? The bomb? The big bomb?" Harry felt his heart go out to the men who had just died. But the hospital was still standing, with only four dead and not a thousand. If this was all the bomb could do, it would be a relief. He could live with four dead instead of a thousand.

But Scopes shook his head. "Nowhere near five hundred pounds of C4. The blast was directed downward, from a point several feet below the device we saw an hour ago. This was a b.o.o.by trap-not the main bomb."

"Not the big one?" Harry wasn't sure he'd heard Scopes right.

"Not the big one. Think a hundred times this big."

"Aw, Jesus Christ!"

Lee pinched Scopes's shoulder. "Stay here. See what you can figure out. I'm going to call upstairs and see if our hackers are here yet."

Harry noticed that some of the lights in the area were moving around. When he looked more carefully he saw a blond woman in a turtleneck standing in the midst of all the pandemonium. It was Kathleen Brown.

Harry pushed his way over. A technician was moving a portable light from side to side while Dutch held up a meter to check the white balance reflected off Kathleen Brown's face.

"Are you out of your minds?" shouted Harry. "It's not safe for you to be filming here."

Kathleen Brown cupped her hand over one ear.

Harry repeated himself, louder, exaggerating his lip movements to make sure she understood him. "I said you can't film here."

"We have an agreement," she shouted back.

"No. Not for this." Harry grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her through the crowd, off toward the place where the corridor started to get dark again.

Just then the fire alarm shut off, but Kathleen Brown still went on shouting. "We have a right to be here! The public has a right to know what's going on!"

"No, it's too dangerous. We could have a cave-in. Plus there's still a ma.s.sive bomb just above us that can go off at any time."

"It's our job. Dutch was a war correspondent. Danger is nothing new."

"That's right," said Dutch. "I was embedded with the 101st Airborne in Baghdad."

"Look at this pile of rubble," said Harry. "That could be you."

"Are you throwing us out?" asked Kathleen Brown. "Do I need to have our network president call Dr. Gosling?"

Harry fished a quarter out of his pocket and slapped it into the palm of Kathleen Brown's hand. "Here. The call's on me."

"I know why you don't want us reporting this story. You're afraid of what I might say about you."

"The h.e.l.l I am."

"I know all about Nacogdoches, Mr. Lewton-or should I say, Police Lieutenant Harry Lewton. Don't act surprised. We get paid to ask questions. Sometimes the ghosts of the past don't want to stay buried, do they?"

"You don't know jack s.h.i.t about Nacogdoches."

"Well, now, here's the deal. I can either report on this bomb, or I can find something else to put on our evening news show. How about an old story about police incompetence, cowardice, a couple of dead kids? There's human interest for you. That's what I'm good at, right? A promising young lieutenant finds his life on the skids after being run out of town for ... for what?"

"Save it for the pigeons. Put it on a prime-time special, for all I care. I've been there before. But let me tell you, my conscience is at peace with Nacogdoches. I did what I knew to be right. And I'll do it now, too. G.o.d knows, it would give me satisfaction to see you people blown to dust. But I'm responsible for the safety of everyone in this hospital-and that includes you."

Captain Avery-hatless, seeming a decade older now that his dark hair was flecked with white dust and plaster-came stumbling toward the camera lights. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Mr. Lewton is telling us we can't film here," said Kathleen Brown.

"Well, you shouldn't. It's dangerous," said Avery. "I just had three ... four men killed."

"We're willing to accept the risk," said Kathleen Brown. "We'll stay out of your way. But there's a nationwide audience that deserves to see the courage and dedication of these men of yours up close."

"Network TV, is it?"

"Yes. By tomorrow you'll be one of the most famous men in the country, Captain Avery."

"Screw that."

"What about these men that died? I can guarantee you the whole country will know and honor their sacrifice. They'll be celebrated as heroes."

Avery looked back toward the rubble. At the top of the mound, one of the firemen was trying to hack his way into the utility shaft. "How many people do you need?" he asked Kathleen Brown. "Bare minimum?"

"Three. Me, Dutch, and a lighting man."

"All right. As long as you accept the risk. And I won't have you taking pictures that will upset the families of these men that died."

"You have my word."

"Wait a minute," said Harry. "I don't think-"

"I'm the Incident Commander here, Mr. Lewton. This is a police site, and what I say goes. I'm telling you they can stay."

A voice came from the utility shaft. "Captain! We've got Tony free. We're pa.s.sing him down now."

Avery pushed through the crowd and clambered partway up the pyramid of wreckage. "Is he ... is he-"

"He's gone, sir," said one of the bomb techs, who backed out of the shaft, holding the lower part of the blackened torso of what had been a young man in his twenties.

Avery's voice quavered as he caught sight of him. "Aw, sweet Jesus! Aw, G.o.d! Not f.u.c.kin' Tony!"

Dutch slung his camera at his waist, but Harry noticed that the little red light was on as Avery and his men pulled down the body of Tony Pa.s.salaqua and set it upon a waiting gurney. In a moment the transport orderlies were whisking the gurney to the ER, as though there were still a chance of life for the charred, smashed heap of flesh.

In the dark part of the corridor, Lee hung up a wall phone. "Lewton!" he shouted. "The cyber squad's here. I want you with me when I talk to O'Day."

"Coming," replied Harry. Turning to Kathleen Brown, he tipped his hand to his eyebrow in a mock salute. "Field goal to you, kiddo. Make the most of it. The instant I see you upstairs, I'm having your a.s.s escorted out of this medical center."

"You've got visitors."

Kevin looked up from the floor of the Isolation Room, where he sat handcuffed to the drainpipe. The pudgy cop named Dayton had just come in, and began to unlock his leg irons.

"That explosion, can you tell me what the f.u.c.k just happened?" asked Kevin.

"Ask them." Dayton pulled Kevin onto his feet and led him out into the guardroom. Harry, Lee, and a few of the cops he recognized from before were waiting for him, grim as tombstones. With them was a strapping man in a three-b.u.t.ton black pinstripe suit, and a tiny, dark-skinned young woman with large eyes and short black hair.

Dayton made Kevin sit down at the table in the center of the room. A chair leg screeched as Lee sat down beside him. "We're recording this. Understood?" said Lee, slapping his recorder onto the table.

Lee and Harry were sopping wet and streaked with white dust. "Th-that explosion, where was it?" Kevin asked.

"You ought to know, Mr. O'Day."

"Was it in the Tower?"

"You tell me."

It had to be Tambora or Krakatoa, thought Kevin. If it were Thera-the Big One-we would all be dead.

Kevin cleared his throat nervously. "Do you understand the situation now? You can't go on holding me."

"On the contrary, Mr. O'Day. You've just murdered four public safety officers. There is no possibility whatsoever of my releasing you. If I were to do so, you would not get out of this building alive. There are several dozen cops who would just love to get you in their sights."

Kevin felt a bead of sweat run down the side of his face. "Murdered ... who?"

"Four men from the bomb squad were killed in that last explosion. I just came from viewing the bodies. What was left of them."

Kevin scanned the faces arrayed about him. "That ... that wasn't in the plan. If you had f.u.c.king listened to me, it wouldn't have happened. G.o.dd.a.m.n you! It wasn't me. It was you who killed them, you sons of b.i.t.c.hes!"

"How many more bombs are there, Mr. O'Day?"

"Plenty. They do all kinds of things. It's ... it's like a chess game that's already been played out in advance. Whatever move you make, there's a countermove in position. You can't win. Every possible angle has been covered."

"I think it's time you cut the c.r.a.p and started to cooperate before anyone else gets killed." Lee gestured toward the two new agents. "Meet Special Agent Dail and Special Agent Ganguly, from the Computer Crimes Division. Now, I understand that all of these bombs are under computer control-something called Odin. Is that correct?"

"You can't hack into Odin. If you try, or if you attempt to cut power to his mainframe, he'll go into doomsday mode."

"Ah, yes, the mainframe. We've had some trouble getting into your laboratory, Mr. O'Day. It seems the entry code's been changed, and an unauthorized deadbolt system has been installed in the door. The first thing you can do is tell us how to get inside."

"You don't want to go into the lab. Project Vesuvius is active. Under its operating rules, anyone but me in the lab will be regarded as an intruder."

"The lab is b.o.o.by-trapped?"

"Yes."

"Then give us the security codes you use for access."

"It doesn't work like that. You have to be me to get in. The lab's under surveillance by a microphone and a couple of video cameras-running on batteries, not the main power circuit, just in case you get ideas. They're Odin's eyes and ears. He knows what I look and sound like. He knows my speech patterns-favorite words I use, inflections, things that are uniquely and incontrovertibly me. If you think you can fake that, be my guest. Otherwise, I wouldn't go in there, if I were you. You wouldn't last ten seconds."

Lee got up, seemingly overcome with emotion. Folding his hands behind him, he turned away from Kevin and paced to the far end of the tiny room. "Did you just refer to this plan of yours as Project Vesuvius?"

"Yeah, Vesuvius. So what?"

"Vesuvius being the volcano that wiped out the city of Pompeii, back in Roman days?"